


Pearls Before Swine

by imonlyobsessed



Series: Pearls and Gifts [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bets & Wagers, Crack, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, OOC behavior, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-31 18:19:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3988042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imonlyobsessed/pseuds/imonlyobsessed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You cannot be serious.”  Sam glared at the white fabric hanging innocently from Dean’s hand.<br/>“I’ve never been more serious.  Pretty up, Francis.  You lost that bet fair and square.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pearls Before Swine

**Author's Note:**

> Trying to save my old fics from a fritzing computer. Written years ago. Complete and utter crack set vaguely sometime in season 5.

“You cannot be serious.” Sam glared at the white fabric hanging innocently from Dean’s hand.

“I’ve never been more serious. Pretty up, Francis. You lost that bet fair and square.”

Sam wouldn’t do this. He softened his face, pushed his lower lip out just a little and widened his eyes, giving his very best, soulful, and beaten puppy look. “Dean. Come on. I didn’t even- you couldn’t- just- Oh, come on?”

Dean never had been able to say ‘no’ to that face when they were growing up. Even now, it worked sometimes. Dean’s gleeful expression faded and he started to lower his arm.

_Yes!!!!_

“Aww. No fair using the face like that. You know it always gets to me.”

_Score!!!!_

Dean sighed, “Just for that, I’m gonna make sure you have a nice string of pearls to wear too, ok?” The smile snapped back onto Dean’s face.

 _Wait, what?!_ Sam’s expression went hard. His eyes instantly turned to stone. “Pearls? I don’t fucking think so.”

“Oh, Samantha, I really do.” Sam didn’t think he’d ever seen Dean have a more sadistic grin. “A nice sting of pretty pearls, to wear with your pretty apron, while your pretty little ass cleans this pretty little mess.” Dean swept his arm out, encompassing Bobby’s entire kitchen. There were dishes piled high on either side of the double-sink. The kitchen table was gone under layer after layer of books and papers. A stinking mountain of laundry sat in front of the closet doors that hid the washer and dryer. Next to the back door, trash overflowed from the trash can and looked like it was trying to make its own escape. Sam looked down at the floor itself and shuddered; muddy footprints tracked across it in every direction. It looked vaguely like an obscene sponge painting. _Oh, Christ! Does Bobby even_ own _a mop?_ He pointed emphatically downward, “I am NOT washing that by hand!”

Dean smirked knowing he’d won. No matter how much Sam balked at the idea, he’d never leave Bobby with this kind of mess. Hell, he was surprised that Sam had let it get this bad in the week they’d been staying here. Sam was normally more of a neat-freak than that. Then again, they had been busy looking for a way to stop the Devil. And Death. And the Apocalypse. Hmm. Maybe a little mess was understandable. Whatever. Dean just kept smiling at Sam’s bitchy expression. His jaw clenched, his nostrils flared, and his lips pinched as he accepted the inevitable.

“Fine!”

“Fine.” Dean offered the apron back up and Sam ripped it angrily from his hand. Sam jerked the straps over his arms and tied the strings behind his back quickly. Dean had ordered the largest women’s apron he could find online but, no matter how much Dean teased him about it, Sam was not actually a woman. On Sam, what should have been full-length came to just below his knees. The shoulder holes were only just big enough to fit his arms and let him move, and the narrow chest panel looked ridiculously small on Sam’s broad frame. Dean literally choked trying to swallow his laughter because of the look Sam was shooting him. He’d actually seen Sam look at oozing corpses with more warmth. Clearing his throat, Dean squeezed his voice out, “I’ll uh-” _cough_ “I’ll, uh, leave you to it then.” _chucklecough._ “Let you get started. Ok.” He turned and ran because he was almost positive that Sam’s left eye had started twitching. He managed to make the front porch before he collapsed, laughing so hard that tears were streaming down his face and his ribs ached every time he hitched a breath. There was a very good chance that Sam could hear him from the kitchen but he just couldn’t care. Each time he almost had himself under control he’d see it again: His gigantic brother doing his most frightening loom. Wearing a frilly white apron strait out of June Cleaver’s wardrobe. Christ, he wished he could have gotten a mop into Sam’s hand. That settled it. He HAD to go into town. He finally got himself vertical and stumbled out into the junkyard to find Bobby under the hood of his rust-bucket Chevelle. “Hey man, I’m gonna go into town real quick and run an errand. Do me a favor, don’t go in the kitchen. Wait ‘till I get back.”

“You got him to wear it, didn’t you?”

His Cheshire grin was answer enough.

Bobby rolled his eyes and shook his head, “Buncha idjit kids, I swear. Yeah, I’ll stay out. Least he’s makin’ himself useful.” Dean gave another sharp burst of laughter as her ran for the Impala.

It took an hour of shopping and three different stores but he found it; buried in the jumble of junk at a charity resale shop. It wasn’t real and it would probably never see another day, but it was perfect. Exactly what he was looking for so he figured it was ten bucks well spent. Smiling happily he stuck it in his front jeans pocket and headed back to Bobby’s. As soon as he walked in the front door he could smell Lemon Pine-Sol and bleach. He paused in the doorway of the kitchen, kind of awed at how much Sam had managed to get done already. The washer and dryer hummed steadily behind their doors; all the dishes were stacked neatly on one side of the sink, waiting their turn through the soapy water. The trash was gone, the table had been cleaned off and now held stacks of neatly folded, clean clothes. _Holy Shit, Sam is a domestic goddess!_

Sam was putting away an armful of clean dishes in the far cabinet, pointedly ignoring him until Dean went to step forward. “I swear to Fucking God, Dean, if you walk across this floor with those boots on, I will strangle you with my apron strings.”

Dean looked down and, sure enough, the floor was shiny and clean. Who would’ve thought that it was supposed to be a cream color? Still not looking at him, Sam padded back to the sink in his bare feet and started on the next pile of dishes. Ok, Dean was an asshole, but he wasn’t THAT much of an asshole. Usually. He toed out of his shoes and set them against the hall wall. After checking his crusty socks for a moment he pulled them off too and stuck them in his boots. The floor was still slightly damp in places, but not slick. He stopped short of Sam and opened the fridge, grabbing a longneck.

“So what’s for dinner, honey?”

Sam laughed, low and dark. Dean was pretty sure that somewhere in Sam’s mind; he was a bleeding lump under Sam’s fists.

“No, I mean it. I had no idea you were so… domestic.”

Sam’s eye might have twitched again. Dean sauntered behind Sam to the table and set his beer down. He was using slow, relaxed movements, not wanting to spook Sam before he got close. Sticking his hand in his pocket, he curled his fingers in the twisted length of Sam’s present.

“You know what sounds good for dinner? Pot-Roast. I can’t remember the last time that I had a good roast.”

Sam continued to ignore Dean and work on the dishes as Dean padded closer.

“Damn. I don’t think Bobby has one. Oh well, it’s too late to start a roast anyway. How about meatloaf?  Yeah. I know Bobby’s got hamburger. That’ll only take about an hour to bake. What do you think Sam? Are you up to meatloaf?” He was right behind Sam now and clapped his free hand on Sam’s shoulder. “There’s potatoes, too, I think. We could have meatloaf, mashed potatoes and gravy, and corn for dinner. Doesn’t that sound good?”

Sam sighed and dropped his shoulders as his stomach growled loudly. “I hate you.”

Dean laughed and pulled his hand slowly out of his pocket. He cupped his purchase in his hand and held it behind Sam’s neck. He’d have to do this just right. “Oh. Don’t be like that, honey. I got you a present.” As Sam started to turn his head, Dean reached around his neck with both hands and snapped the clasp together.

“What the-” Sam’s hand flew up to his throat and ran along the bumpy length. “Is this- MOTHER FUCKER! Did you just put a pearl necklace on me?!”

Dean had already backed up to the kitchen table laughing.

“Goddamnit, Dean! This is not funny. Take it off.” Sam tried to pull the necklace out and look down at the clasp, but it wouldn’t go past his chin. “I’m serious, take it off, now!”

“But Sam, I got that just for you. Every blushing bride should have a pearl necklace.”

“I’m going to kill you in your sleep.” Sam started out of the kitchen, intent on finding a mirror. Dean quickly stepped in front of him, stopping him with a hand on his chest.

“Whoa, now. What do you think you’re doing?”

“Taking this damn thing off.”

“No, you’re not. You lost the bet, Sammy, and you have to be house bitch. So you’re wearing the necklace. Besides, looks good on you. Brings out your eyes.” Dean smiled easily up at his brother. A mild tremor was running through Sam’s body and “Pissed” just radiated off of him. Dean felt a moment of doubt. He was starting to think that maybe he’d pushed Sam just a little too far if this level of violence was coming from him. Then suddenly, it disappeared; Sam visibly relaxed under Dean‘s hand. The change was so abrupt that Dean flinched, expecting Sam to be shoving at him. Instead, all the anger and malice was just gone. A soft, thoughtful smile curled Sam’s lips. Ok. Maybe not ALL the malice was gone.

“How badly do you want me to wear this?”

“Why?” Dean narrowed his eyes and suspicion was thick in his voice.

“Answer the question.” Sam stepped back and straightened, spreading his arms and lifting his head. “How much is my humiliation worth to you?”

Dean looked Sam over, a chuckle hiding in the back of his throat. He wasn’t sure how safe laughter was yet, though. “Honestly? That’s the funniest damn thing I’ve seen in a while, so quite a bit.”

Sam’s smile turned absolutely feral. “Fine then. I’ll make you a deal. I’ll wear the apron and I’ll even wear the damn necklace while I clean.”

Dean cocked his head, “Okay...”

“But, when I’m done, YOU have to wear the apron and make that meatloaf.”

Dean mulled over the ways this could go badly. He wasn’t seeing many. “Couple of conditions and I might. One; you have to clean up afterwards. IN the apron.”

Sam nodded slightly. He’d figured on that happening.

“Two; you have to keep the necklace on for the rest of the night.”

There was a longer silence this time while Sam chewed that over. The necklace was sitting warm on his collar bone. It wasn’t actually _uncomfortable_ , but Sam felt like there was more to it. He had the sneaking suspicion that Dean had collared him in some way. On the other hand; Dean was going to make fun of him for this forever, no matter what happened the rest of the night. And Dean actually could cook decent food. An honest-to-God homemade meal was pretty tempting. “You said there was going to be gravy?” Dean nodded. “Deal...” Sam said it hesitantly, like he was regretting it even as he said it.

“Good. Now, get back to those dishes.”

Sam grumbled under his breath as he turned around. He’d screwed up somewhere, he was sure of it. “Jerk.”

Dean let him get about two steps before slapping him on the ass. He smirked at Sam’s scandalized look and dropped onto a kitchen chair. “Less talkin’, more cleanin’, Bitch.” He swigged his beer and sat back to enjoy the view. He was good, very good. Because, really? Who else could take Sam and make an honest woman out of him? All it was costing him was a meatloaf. And if he’d already been planning on cooking that tonight anyway, well, Sam didn’t need to know that, did he? Yeah, sometimes, he was awesome.


End file.
